


Untitled Derse Filth Yo

by TrashCorner



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, alphabeta, alphabits, fucking gay shit, time travel sexploitation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 02:23:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3793066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashCorner/pseuds/TrashCorner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Those little moments you captured and observed...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled Derse Filth Yo

Every twitch, every pulse, every small tautening of sinew was a tick of the second hand.

Every breath, every stroke, every light brush of skin against skin, every hand roving up along a side, splayed out on an abdomen or holding onto a thigh - firm, but not too tight - was a moment that could be slowed down and played back over and over and over until he got tired of it.

Dave wasn't being "fucked". He couldn't call it that. You couldn't "fall in fuck" with someone. You couldn't lie back, naked to the eyes, the things you never let anyone see, not even yourself in the mirror half the time, your breaths struggling to regulate themselves, murmuring how much you "fuck" Him.

Those little moments you captured and observed just like dead frogs suspended in jars of formaldehyde, stocked on your shelf like little trophies, symbolising absolutely nothing, but being cool to look at. You liked that little moan He made - like a whimper, but the sort of whimper a lion makes just before it slams a zebra into the dusty plain and tears into its neck. Speaking of, you liked the way His mouth felt just there.

He just said those words again. Those three words - not the other three, because they lost meaning if you repeated them too often. The orgasms themselves were sacred. You've never, ever, ever rewinded an orgasm. His or yours. Sure, if you really like it you might fast-forward through his refractory, but He'd miss you too much in the space of time imperceptible to you when you weren't there. You hang around for the snuggle, because hell, why not. He's as good to you resting as He is rolling His hips and moaning from how fucking good you feel around Him.

That's why you don't just "fuck" Him.

You don't even say "fuck". You bite your lip, sure, but the rest of the syllable doesn't follow. You bite that lip of yours a lot. You can't help it, it's His fault He makes you feel so good.

He, Him, His, He'll, Himself, He's…

 

"Dirk…"

 

Dave's breath hitches, feeling what he could only describe as his whole pelvic region tensing up, a strained gasp passing between his lips.

"Shit, man, you alright?", Dirk asks in a whisper of genuine concern, his affected drawl gone with his sudden serious tone.

Dave wheezes; "I-I… I think I… lost track a' how many times I replayed that one…"

Dirk shakes his head. "If I ever met such a god-damn dork…"

"Shut up an' kiss me," the shivering blond replies, half-lidded eyes glistening up at Dirk in that way they just… did.

Dirk just nods, and complies. As their lips met - slow, but sure, sweet, but firm - he wondered how many times Dave would relive it.


End file.
